‘I think calling it arelationshipis stretching the truth,’ Taz interjected.
‘Noted. You’re rude, impatient and, frankly, uncontrollable.’
‘Who is supposed to be in control of me?’ he shot back. ‘I own my team, I call the shots, I make every decision.’
Good point. ‘You never push back on bad publicity.’
He shrugged. ‘People can write what they like, believe what they want.’
So confident. ‘Up until this point your saving grace, from a PR point of view, has been your exemplary behaviour on and off the track. Journalists have often commended you for not carrying your bad-boy antics onto the track and into your professional life… Until now,’ she concluded.
He tensed, and Millie knew she’d made her point. ‘They—the press and the fans—are asking whether your personal life has spilt over into your professional life. People might excuse your antics off the track, but they won’t stand for it on it.’
He nodded. Was he taking her comments on board? ‘You’re not offended?’ she asked.
‘I’d much rather be hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie,’ Taz replied, lifting his shoulders in a quick shrug. ‘So you think lending my pulling power to charities will redeem me?’
‘Along with an apology to the rookie? Yes. Well, it certainly won’t hurt.’
‘I intended to make my apology to him in private. I think it means more that way.’
Millie agreed. ‘A public statement is also necessary, Taz. A photo of the two of you shaking hands would be even better.’ He was unlikely to agree, but what was the worst he could say? No?
‘I wanted to catch him before he left for the two-week break before Miami, but,’ he said as he held up his cast, ‘the operation delayed me.’
Throughout the F1 season, everything the team needed at a race—from invaluable cars and the team’s headquarters to tyres, fuel and Taz’s preferred brand of coffee—was transported to every location the sport visited around the world. Their next stop would be Florida, for the Miami Grand Prix. Formula One was one big moving circus: Set things up, race, take them down. Rinse and repeat.
‘Can you apologise to the rookie by video call? That way we can get a statement out to the press quicker.’
Taz didn’t look happy at the suggestion but finally nodded. Millie did a mental fist pump and, because her luck was holding, pushed for more. ‘And will you consider collaborating with charities?’
His eyes connected with hers, and Millie felt the pop of a champagne cork in her stomach, the fizz of bubbles. ‘Draw up a list of twenty charities, a mixture of established and new, and let them make a one-page pitch or short video message as to how best they could use me. I’ll decide who to support.’
Excellent. That was a solid win. Except there was one little fly in the ointment. Phoebe. Who tended to resurface in Taz’s life whenever there was an excellent promo opportunity. She couldn’t let their turbulent relationship spoil his PR rehabilitation. ‘I can explain you meeting Meredith, as she was Alex’s fiancée. But Phoebe is a troublemaker, and she has to stay away from this, Taz.’
The woman in her, the one who’d kissed Taz last night, would prefer Phoebe to drop out of Taz’s life entirely. Millie told her to be quiet. She wasn’t allowed an opinion.
His eyebrow lifted at the use of his first name, but she didn’t break eye contact. He needed to know how deadly serious she was on this point. Millie gathered her courage. ‘Her reputation is worse than yours, and the charities don’t deserve to be caught up in any drama. If she’s going to be around, then tell me and I’ll find another way to rehab your rep.’
‘I like your idea,’ Taz replied, his agreement shocking her. ‘And Phoebe and I are done. Permanently.’
Really? Millie hoped Phoebe had got that message. ‘I track the press releases mentioning your name, and she’s been giving interviews left and right, saying that you’ll be back together soon. That you will be heading to the Caribbean to recoup and reset your relationship.’
He scoffed. ‘There isnothingto reset. I made it clear to her a few days ago, before I left London, that we are over.’
He sounded like he meant it, but Phoebe was a bad penny who kept showing up. But Millie saw the warning light in his eyes and decided to heed his silent admonition. The subject was closed.
She looked down at her iPad, reflecting that she’d made more progress than she’d expected.
It was time to go. ‘I’ll get working on the press statement and researching charities.’
‘Link the charities to where we are racing next. A Miami charity for Miami, an Italian charity for Imola.’ Millie swallowed. She’d been trying to forget they were heading to the racetrack where Ben lost his life. She didn’t know if she could do it. But the Imola race was still a month away, and she’d worry about the emotional impact of being at the crash site later. She had bigger problems right now.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
She stood and picked up her bag and pulled it over her shoulder. She shouldn’t ask but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Are you going back to London or New York?’
‘Not that it’s got anything to do with you, but I’m not sure yet.’
